


the beast in me (is caged by frail and fragile bars)

by noncorporealform



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Steve Rogers, Friends to Lovers, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Magical Realism, Masturbation, No Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Top Bucky Barnes, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 11:01:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12011340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noncorporealform/pseuds/noncorporealform
Summary: Didn’t much matter where the damn thing came from. The fact remained: there was a wolf loose in Brooklyn and everybody knew it.





	the beast in me (is caged by frail and fragile bars)

Nobody could agree on where it came from. The first rumor was that it had broken out of Prospect Park, but no news had come from there. Some said that it was a lone stray, wandering into the city, driven out of the country by new buildings and fewer forests. Dorothy Jameson was certain that it had been mistaken for someone’s pet puppy at one time, and once the owner realized what it was, they turned it out of their door to be someone else’s problem. Didn’t much matter where the damn thing came from. The fact remained: there was a wolf loose in Brooklyn and everybody knew it.

 

 

There was no curfew, but Bucky began to notice fewer children out after nightfall. No more obstinate kids refusing to stop playing stickball, no young boys and girls sneaking into bars, not even stray pickpockets were around after dark. It seemed everybody was taking the wolf seriously but the police.

“They say it’s pale,” Daniella said to Bucky as they sat together in the hall, taking a break from dancing to catch their breath. “Almost white, but it’s dirty or something. That’s what Al Croyden said when ma brought her car in to get the tires rotated. He saw it when it was taking out the garbage. It was right in the alley, under a streetlamp, he said. Big as life and everything.”

“Al Croyden pours whiskey on his cornflakes,” Bucky teased. “I wonder what else he’s ‘seen.’”

“You don’t believe me.”

“I don’t believe Al Croyden.”

Daniella rolled her eyes and let Bucky kiss her on the cheek. He smelled the musk of powder and a little bit of beer from when she’d rinsed her hair. He draped his hand over her shoulder and took in the sight of the dance hall. The music changed and it was a slow dance, but the pair of them were still out of breath and relaxing.

Something small and pale appeared in the corner of his eye. His head turned and he was sure who he was going to see standing close by. Instead, Bucky’s face dropped. No one was leaning against the back wall, under the spotlight, where he had thought he’d seen someone. It had been a trick of the light and shadow. A little bit of anger stoked in his heart as he realized, after watching the door all night, that Steve was not coming. He held Daniella tighter and made himself forget the absence.

 

 

It was hard for Bucky to be angry at Steve when he got a look at him. The kid hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep, clearly. The bags under his eyes were deep purple and, though it was genuine, Steve’s smile when he caught sight of Bucky failed to completely light up his eyes.

They met for breakfast on a Saturday because neither of them worked and they could spend the day with each other. Though, what they were going to do was always left until the day for the decision.

“I missed you last night,” Bucky said, no longer mad, taking a drink of his coffee.

“I’m real sorry, Buck,” Steve groaned. “It’s just this newspaper route stuff is tough. I have to get up so early. Can’t stay up late doing the lindy-hop.”

“Well don’t burn yourself out, either. If I see you working too hard, I’m gonna have to _make_ you relax. And then you’ll be sorry.”

“I thought that was what today was for?”

“Don’t think of it as a punishment. We’re doing something for you today. I hear they got a new exhibit at the art museum.”

“Really?”

“There’s that smile.”

Steve hid his expression behind pinched lips.

“Then maybe we can go dancin’ after?” Bucky tried.

“I can’t stay up too late, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah. Have it your way. Get your hat. Let’s go look at your pretty pictures. You’re leaving the tip, though.”

 

 

The wolf slaughtered a horse.

It was a little bit the owner’s fault. He had tied it to a post and had gone off drinking, intending to ride the horse back to its stables in a few hours. No one with sense left a cart horse standing around at night. He came outside once the commotion outside became commotion inside and someone said something about a horse. The man had leapt up out of his seat, rushed outside and pitched a fit, throwing his hat down and stomping on it. The horse wasn’t well-treated in life, from the look of him, but it was still the man’s livelihood.

How the wolf had eaten half the horse before anybody noticed the carcass, nobody quite knew.

 

 

“I’m not worried about the wolf,” Steve said.

“Just say you’ll be careful,” Bucky said. “Just because there’s no way it’s a wolf don’t mean there’s nothing to worry about. _Something_ killed that horse.”

“You’re not my ma.”

A few of the people in line for a movie ticket turned to look at them. Steve noticed that he’d shouted the last part and turned his face away from the crowd.

“Closest to,” Bucky insisted. “And besides, whatever it is, it took something as big as a horse down. Who knows what’s next? People, probably. The thing’s gotta be hungry or angry or both. Come on, we’re gonna miss the movie.”

They piled into the theater, dressed up in their Sunday clothes and sat back with popcorn and a soda. Coming in from daylight outside, the dark and cool of the theater was comfortable, even with the rising plume of cigarette smoke.

“Thanks for comin’ out with me,” Steve said.

“Hey, no problem,” Bucky said, nudging Steve. “Besides, I’ve been dying to see this one. Here, have some popcorn.”

“I’m payin’ attention to the news.”

“You can’t eat popcorn and watch the news?”

Someone in the row behind them shushed them and Bucky shrunk, sheepish, into his seat. He turned his head and noticed that Steve was holding his belly. His brow quirked and he leaned in.

“Are you feelin’ okay?” Bucky whispered.

“It’s just something I ate,” Steve said. “Just… lemme watch the news.”

Bucky raised a brow and settled further down into his seat. He wished he could occupy himself with something else during the news. He didn’t like the images he was seeing coming from places far away, places he couldn’t help but in prayers.

 

 

They laughed on the way home, the sky dim and the lights of the city coming on. They had both been looking forward to the movie but the massive disappointment of it meant they had to laugh or admit that the cost of a ticket had been a waste. Bucky wrapped an arm around Steve’s shoulder and gripped him tight. Steve tried to wriggle away but gave up, letting Bucky drag him along.

“It wasn’t so bad,” Bucky said.

“It was terrible,” Steve said.

“No, I mean, the night. It’s not so terrible.”

It was cool, the sky clear, and the streets were quieter than usual. Bucky roughed up Steve’s hair, and that was when Steve was well and truly done with him, pushing him away.

A sudden bark made them both jump. They turned around to see a great big dog at the end of the block. It was running towards them.

“God damn it,” Bucky swore. “Not again.”

They bolted down the street, Mr. Cornell’s dog chasing after them, jaws slobbering and maw open with bared teeth. The massive mutt always seemed to get out just when there were few people on the street, and Bucky and Steve seemed to always be one of those few people.

“Go go go go go,” Bucky rambled.

They found their way around the corner and up the steps to Bucky’s apartment. He slammed into the door, his key finding the lock in one quick jab. He didn’t even get time to turn around and see where the dog was before Steve shoved him inside. They kicked the door closed and landed on the floor of the building’s foyer. The dog barked, trying to get in. The huge beast banged into the door and for a second Bucky believed it was going to burst open. When it didn’t, Bucky dropped on the floor, boneless. Steve was the first to laugh. Bucky followed after.

“That _fucking_ dog,” Bucky said.

“You know he’s gonna bite a kid,” Steve said. “I’m talking to that bastard Cornell and I’m making him leash that dog.”

“He always says he will and it always gets out.”

“It’s a menace.”

“Come on, man,” Bucky said. “Have a nightcap. Wait for the dog to go away.”

They spent the rest of the night enjoying each other’s silences or laughing in turn as they drank Bucky’s liquor. Steve didn’t end up going home. He was still sleeping on the couch when Bucky woke him up in time for Steve to make his paper route, though with the hangover, Bucky wasn’t thanked for it. He simply smoothed Steve’s hair out of his forehead, playfully cupped his cheek, and sent his friend on his way.

 

 

Work had been draining, but it was over. The days were getting shorter and night was already falling. Dreaming of a full night’s sleep, he turned the corner into an alleyway, a shortcut he didn’t like to take—too crowded and dark—but which he took when he was too tired to make the full walk.

He gazed up and saw the sky dimming between the wires and the laundry, listening to the sounds of dozens of radios trying to outdo each other through open windows. He thought of his own programs and smiled, turning his head to look in front of him again.

There was an ancestor of his who survived in order to give his descendent the bone-deep knowledge that he should not move.

He thought wolves would be smaller. He pictured them like dogs, maybe the size of a german shepherd, only wilder and running in packs. He wondered how it would be possible that something that big could be hiding in Brooklyn, that no one from animal control had caught it, or that it hadn’t gotten pinned in some alleyway by someone with a big enough gun. He wondered where it slept, how it got around, and how so few people had really seen it.

The white of its fur was only interrupted with patches of golden blond. Its limbs were long and thin, holding up a broad chest. The eyes which stared out at him were light blue and caught the dim light of the streetlamp. Its face was neutral as it locked eyes with Bucky.

Its lips curled up into a snarl. Bright teeth chomped and snapped and Bucky still could not move. But he could tremble.

Then it stopped growling. The animal face became passive again and it pawed forward, sniffing the air. Bucky realized it was curious.

That curiosity seeped into Bucky. Fear had taken him over so completely that his body and mind had taken on a detached calm. He stared at the animal’s eyes. There was something fathomless in them, unafraid and non-threatening. Bucky felt in that moment that he had nothing to be afraid of.

He reached out his hand.

A crash made Bucky jump and cover his head as he realized something had come from above. He heard a yelp like that of a smaller dog. He peeked from behind the arm he shielded himself with to see that something large had fallen on the wolf. The chair was big and heavy, probably something someone would have put on their balcony for cool nights light that night.

“Get out of there!” cried a voice.

He looked up. The person who had dropped the huge, heavy chair onto the wolf was waving his arms. The wolf was pulling itself back to its feet, clumsy, large paws skittering on the stone under its feet. There was only one instinct Bucky had left.

He bolted.

 

 

 “It was the biggest god-damn thing I ever saw,” Bucky swore. “This weren’t no dog I’ve ever seen.”

“Dogs can get pretty big,” said the police officer.

“It was a _wolf_.”

Despite everyone being in agreement over what they saw and heard, the police officer remained skeptical. He was transcribing, but not believing. Frustration rose in Bucky’s chest.

“What if it had been a kid?” Bucky said. “What if that kid was pinned in an alleyway? Are you guys going to do something about this animal or not?”

From the look on the police officer’s face, Bucky had his answer. He stayed with him for the bare minimum of time before picking up his things and tearing off into the night.

All Bucky could think was that he was bursting to tell Steve.

 

 

He knocked on the door of Steve’s apartment. His body was humming. Steve was probably asleep. He would be used to being up with the sun, adhering to the schedule of his paper route. He knocked on the door. He knocked again. He banged on it incessantly until he heard something inside.

It sounded like something huge was rolling around inside, knocking things about. There was a massive thump on the floor and Bucky was scared he’d woken him too abruptly and that he’d fallen out of bed.

“Just gimme a second,” he heard Steve say from inside.

When Steve opened the door, he was still putting his arm through the sleeve of a robe. He pulled the thing tighter around him, yanking at the sash to close it.

The bruises were the first thing Bucky saw. His heart rose in his chest at the sight of the right side of his face and the stain of red under his nose.

“Aw, jeez, Steve,” Bucky said. “What happened to you?”

“It’s nothing,” Steve said, turning the side of his face away.

“Was it those Duffer boys? I swear, if they don’t leave you alone—”

“Is there a _reason_ you’re here in the middle of the night, Buck?”

“Right—have I got a story for you.”

He told Steve the uninterrupted tale of his night, from what had gone before to the encounter with the wolf, and the politics of what came after. Steve seemed curious, leaning in as Bucky told the tale. His face was somber, but interested. His brow worried, but he would nod in relief whenever it seemed the danger was over.

“You believe me, right?” Bucky said.

Steve was quiet for a good long time. “You’re sure nobody got hurt?” Steve said.

“Yeah,” Bucky assured him. “It’d be on the front page if a wolf killed someone in the middle of New York. So far as I know, he just got that horse and a few strays. But somebody’s gotta catch it. Something that big? It won’t be interested in sewer rats for long.”

Steve’s eyes bulged. “How big was it?”

“Christ almighty, it was big. Its back would come up above your doorknob. If it were in here, it’d take up your whole kitchen nook.”

Steve looked around, as if picturing what it might look like in his tiny apartment. There wasn’t much to it. Just a bed, the kitchen and all his pictures up on the wall. It had taken Steve a long time to let him come over at all. There was nothing Bucky found shameful about the way Steve lived, but he supposed Steve had his hang-ups.

 “It’s late,” Steve said. “And we both gotta get to work in the morning. Sleep here.”

“Nah, I can make it home,” Bucky swore.

“Buck. You’re runnin’ on adrenaline. Lay down, take a load off.”

“It’s not my shift tomorrow.”

“Still, you should get rest.”

The pair of them got ready for bed, Bucky finding different things to say about his experience while Steve listened, enraptured, egging him on for any other details they might have. Bucky notedly looked away while Steve slipped out of his robe. Bucky found himself falling into Steve’s bed with no intention of falling asleep, only to drop down deep into the mattress.

Bucky groaned and shifted over, patting the mattress next to him. Steve got in without arguing. They had no qualms about that sort of thing. Bucky sometimes wondered if it was something they should’ve grown out of. He didn’t want to. There was nothing wrong with it. They were close as brothers. That’s what he thought as Steve came close to him and Bucky put his arm around Steve.

“You can’t sleep all day,” Steve said. “You still gotta get out of my hair in the morning.”

“Jussa sleep-over,” Bucky agreed before going under.

 

 

When Bucky dreamed, it was of the wolf.

He laid down with it, smelling the dirt of a forest floor (he remembered camping, as a young boy, the smell of pine needles, dry earth and grass). Fear didn’t enter into his mind. He reached out and found a handful of fur and kneaded it with his hand. A wet nose nuzzled him under the chin and Bucky smiled.  The great beast’s chest rose and fell. There were rib bones underneath the fur.

It needed to eat.

 

 

Steve was adamant that Bucky had to leave.

“What time is it?” Bucky mumbled.

“It’s six o’clock,” Steve said.

“In the morning?”

“No. At night. That’s why it’s getting bright outside.”

“Hey, I just woke up. I’m not all here. Besides, your place is dark enough. Might be.”

“It is not.”

“You live in a hole in the ground.”

There was a pause. Neither of them wanted to address the specter in the air, the one that Bucky knew he was going to acknowledge if Steve didn’t. And Steve wouldn’t. Not with his pride.

They unwound themselves and got out of the bed.

“You know, Steve,” Bucky said, clearing his throat. “I do miss living with you.”

“Bucky—,” Steve began.

“Would it be so bad?”

“You already took me in after ma died. I can’t ask you to do that again.”

“I’m not ‘taking you in.’ If you think you can get away with not paying rent when you’re living with me, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Steve huffed and looked out his window. It had a pretty good view of the other buildings in his block. He was pretty well versed in the wardrobe of the woman across the way. His own shirts blocked out the light on his meager balcony.

“I gotta be on my own for a little while,” Steve insisted.

“I would be okay with you sayin’ that,” Bucky said. “ _If_ I ever saw you around. All you do is work, and then you disappear.”

“I know I haven’t been going to the dance halls or anything lately, but—”

“But what? You bored of me?”

“Bored of standing against the wall and watching other people dance.”

There was little to be said against that which Bucky hadn’t already said a hundred times. He considered telling Steve he was just being shy around girls and they’d dance if he’d ask them. He might have said he didn’t have to dance to have a good time. He even wondered if he might be worried just about his dancing, and Bucky could show him the ropes.

Instead, Bucky sighed and got out of bed.

“I’m gonna get going,” Bucky said.

“Bucky, I’m sorry,” Steve said. “I didn’t mean—”

“You take care of yourself, okay kid? And do me a favor? Put some ointment on that. It’s getting angrier.”

Steve held the side of his face, where the deepening bruise was still showing up against his cheekbones and brow. He nodded, but did smile, the way he usually did when he was saying goodbye to Bucky.

Before he shut the door, Bucky paused out in the hallway. He wanted to say something. He was sure of it. He gave up and nodded wordlessly to Steve, shutting the door behind him.

 

 

It took a few days for people to stop asking about the wolf. Then it turned into weeks of no one seeing it. There were no more dead horses, no more sightings and new things to talk about. Reports on war overseas and whispers that it would be their war, soon enough. Bucky thought of his own dad and the war stories he told and hoped to god it wouldn’t be so.

But he hadn’t seen Steve in weeks, either.

He’d left messages with the landlord, but they’d gone unreturned. He wasn’t at his usual haunts. But Bucky had stopped just short of going over to his apartment. That was about to change.

Bucky went after work. He walked there, taking in the crisp air. He looked up to see a gibbous moon floating over the city, glancing at it between buildings when it would briefly appear, and then disappear. He climbed the stairs into Steve’s building only to run into his landlord.

“Haven’t seen you around here much,” Mrs. Gillespie said.

“Just droppin’ in on the guy,” Bucky said.

“You must work late.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Well, this building has a curfew, remember that. Unless you’re staying over.”

“We’ll see ma’am.”

“Always so polite.”

She briefly pinched his cheek and Bucky smiled. Older women often did that to him. Most days he didn’t mind. He knew what he looked like. He had gotten used to it by the time he was thirteen. Mrs. Gillespie went off, pulling a cigarette out of a faux silver case, and Bucky rubbed the side of his cheek, smiling.

Before he turned the corner, he heard a ruckus. Stumbling, gasps, and heavy footsteps were coming from the other side of the hall. He heard Steve’s voice, hushed and excited.

Something told him to stay where he was.

He peeked around the corner to see Steve, followed by another man. Steve’s hands were shaking as he put his keys in the lock. Before he could turn the key, the man came up behind him, put his hands on his hips and pushed him against the door. He began to bite and kiss Steve’s neck and Steve’s eyes fluttered closed.

Bucky’s blood spiked with acid. There was no time to reflect on what it was that drove his blood up. Anger, fear, surprise—he would give no quarter to jealousy. That couldn’t be it. All he could say was that he was shocked.

The man turned Steve around and lifted him until Steve’s legs were wrapped around the man’s waist. They kissed, Steve pressed between the man and the door. He’d never seen men kiss. He’d never seen _anybody_ kiss _like that_. They were all tongue and teeth and open mouths. The large man reached down and turned the key. They disappeared into Steve’s apartment, the door slamming shut behind them.

Bucky whirled around, his back pressed to the wall. His chest was rising, as if he had just jogged up the stairs.

He didn’t know what to do.

So, he ran.

 

 

The wolf had killed another horse.

This time it had broken into the stables on 12th street. Someone was to blame, to be sure. It was impossible that it had gotten into the paddocks on its own. No one could account for the shattered door—a wolf could not have done that. The poor, black beast had been entirely eviscerated, feasted upon, and then abandoned. Nothing else explained it but the Brooklyn wolf. The police still wouldn’t believe the apartment dwellers who heard it happen, that there was a howl, and vicious tearing noises, snarling and barks. The police continued looking for a man. A very disturbed man, but a man nonetheless. After all, they found bloody footprints—bare feet, large, traipsing through the blood. The people knew better.

 

 

Steve had spotted him on the street, waving him over. Bucky could do nothing but stay still and let the man approach him. Bucky couldn’t look at Steve, and Steve noticed.

“Hey,” was all Bucky said as Steve approached him.

“Hey,” Steve said back, voice tremulous. “Listen, I know I haven’t been around much, and I’m sorry. I’ve been working a lot.”

 _Is that what you call it?_ Bucky wondered.

“It’s not a great excuse,” Steve said. “I’m just tired. I gotta find a different line of work. Getting up that early is for the birds. Kinda literally. I hear there’s a church social pretty soon and I was thinking about what you usually say. Maybe I need to get around more. Be around people. You know. Be a person.”

Bucky still couldn’t look at him. It was still vivid in his head. The way Steve was pressed against his door, how he seemed to love it, the way they touched each other.

“I’m busy that day,” Bucky said.

“I didn’t say—,” Steve began.

“I know which one you’re thinking of. Bye, Steve.”

“Buck?”

Bucky turned around and walked back to his own place. He wouldn’t turn around and look behind him.

 

 

He’d imagined Steve’s face like that a hundred times before. Mouth open, making deep sounds of pleasure. He let them remain idle thoughts, knowing that just because he thought of something didn’t mean he wanted it. They were stray thoughts. Unwelcome, but nothing to worry about.

But now—now he’d actually seen it. He’d seen what Steve’s face really looked like when he was ready to get fucked, and there was no doubt, from what he’d seen, that Steve—

He tried to think of girls when he collapsed on his bed, his hand down his trousers. He could conjure them, for a while. But at the moment of climax, all he could see was that face, with another man’s lips pressing against his open mouth.

 

 

He couldn’t put off seeing Steve. It was beginning to be noticeable, and not just to him. People noted Steve’s absence, even people who didn’t like him and wished Bucky wouldn’t bring him around. It wasn’t that they wanted Steve back. They just thought it was curious.

He waited around Steve’s apartment. Once his paper route was over, Steve appeared, stopping short at the sight of his friend. Then his face went firm.

“Haven’t seen _you_ in a while,” Steve said.

“Yeah, well,” Bucky said. “We gotta talk.”

“I just got off work, man.”

“This can’t wait.”

Steve was uneasy as he let Bucky back into his apartment. They were silent as they went through the halls and when Steve started taking off his coat and settling in, Bucky didn’t even take his hands out of his pockets.

Steve sat on the end of his bed, unlacing his boots and pulling them off. Bucky stared at that bed. He’d slept in it, with Steve. Now that he knew another man had slept in there with him, and that they had done god-knows-what—Bucky didn’t know how he felt about that.

“What is it, Buck?” Steve asked, tiredness thick in his voice. “I got up at four a.m. today, I’m not really up to guessing.”

Bucky took a few more steps into the apartment, tucking in his elbows as if he could knock something down. He stood in front of Steve, who eyed him up and down.

“I know,” Bucky said.

Steve’s eyes bulged. He couldn’t seem to blink, and then he was blinking rapidly.

“What are you talking about?” Steve mumbled.

“ _I saw you_ ,” Bucky said. “A few weeks ago.”

Steve sat up, slow. Bucky had only seen Steve scared, really scared, a few times in his life. The only thing close to what Bucky was seeing was when his mother went to the hospital and they all knew, somehow. None more than Steve. This was the same kind of deep fear which would be clawing at the center of him.

“I don’t know what you _think_ you saw—,” Steve said.

“Who was he?” Bucky said. “Where do you even meet men like that?”

Confusion battled with fear on Steve’s face. Then a slow realization. “Bucky, I can explain.”

“Save it,” Bucky snapped. “If we’re going to have this conversation I don’t want you to lie to me anymore.”

“I didn’t lie to you.”

“But you didn’t tell me. That you were a—”

All of the words for it felt crass in his mouth. He was grateful when Steve took up the cause.

“It won’t kill you to say ‘homosexual,’” Steve assured him.

It was out of the way. Bucky was relieved in a way he wasn’t prepared for. He sighed and much of the anger that he was holding onto fell away like blank sheets of paper dropped out a window. He actually laughed.

“Clinical,” Bucky said.

The silence between them stretched. Bucky hated it. He hated everything about the pungent feeling of an argument that couldn’t be avoided.

“How do you know?” Bucky asked.

“I just do,” Steve said. “I know it. In my gut.”

“Your ‘gut.’ Right.”

“Bucky, don’t be like that.”

“I mean, I should’ve known. You do look like someone’s pet punk.”

“Hey! I don’t gotta put up with you talkin’ to me like that. I don’t give a _damn_ how long I’ve known you.”

Bucky’s face screwed up in anger.

“What?” Steve egged on. “Don’t know whether you wanna punch me or just see what it’s like, don’t ya?”

The entire argument came to a screaming halt as Bucky froze. He couldn’t take his eyes off Steve, whose face was still screwed up in anger. Steve’s face opened, mouth going slack with realization. By the time Bucky caught up to his reasoning, Steve already knew his mind.

Steve came closer to the edge of the bed. Bucky didn’t know how to process the fact that his legs were spread open. Not when Steve’s hands were reaching for him and he couldn’t move.

Something stirred in his hips as Steve found the lip of his belt and pulled Bucky closer. He was powerless to stop, moving forward willingly. As he came to a stop his hand came up to cradle the side of Steve’s head. The bruises that were on the right side of his face had disappeared completely, but he still touched him there with the memory of that hurt.

There was the swift sound of leather and a clatter of metal against metal as Steve began to undo his belt.

Bucky pulled himself away and ran out of the apartment faster than he could think.

“Bucky,” Steve called after him. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t—”

He didn’t stick around to hear the other part of the sentence. Since Steve didn’t care to come after him, he didn’t care, either.

 

 

As Bucky stomped down the street, hiding inside his coat, he noted that the streets were emptier than usual. He only passed a few people, and this particular block was empty. He was glad. He didn’t want to say hello to anybody, accidentally meet a friend, or have a stranger approach him for any reason. His mind was going too fast. He told himself he wasn’t confused. He knew exactly what he was and what Steve was.

There was the sound of something scraping the sidewalk, and metal dragging on the ground. Bucky’s brow ticked together and he looked over his shoulder.

“Oh, come on,” Bucky said.

Bucky picked up his feet and ran from Mr. Cornell’s mean mutt, knowing exactly where to go. He’d dodged that dog through this path a hundred times. It was just a pain in the ass. He dodged a few garbage cans and ran down an alleyway to move between two buildings, a shortcut to his own place.

Bucky skidded to a stop.

That fence hadn’t been there before.

It was brand new, fresh, bright wood blocking off the way between the buildings. It was too flat and tall to scale without something to jump up on. There were doors in the fence, but when Bucky tried them, they were latched from the other side. He tugged on them violently, but they still wouldn’t budge.

He turned around to see the dog running full-tilt after him. Its broken chain was snaking along behind him in whipping curves. Bucky’s teeth ground down as his body decided between fight, flight, or freeze. He had maybe two seconds to figure out what to do. He saw something on the ground and grabbed it—a weak piece of wood, but it had a nail in it. He pulled it back, ready to swing.

“Come on!” Bucky cried.

The dog leaped—

A mass of white fur and muscle came out of the darkness, with snarling, yellow teeth open in a snarl. The wolf barreled into the dog. Its mouth missed, but their bodies had knocked into each other. The dog went flying and the wolf found its footing. It snarled and snapped at the dog. The dog was scared, but not enough to back down.

Bucky watched the wolf fight the dog, back to the fence, still clutching the piece of wood like his life depended on it. After nipping at the air and circling, the wolf decided it had had enough. It grabbed the dog by the back of the neck and shook it. The dog yelped, high and desperate. Bucky was sure it was going to break the dog’s neck. Instead, the wolf threw the dog, which landed, undignified, at the entrance to the alleyway. The wolf snarled again and the Mr. Cornell’s mean mutt ran off as fast as it could with the limp the wolf had given it.

The alley was still, the sounds from the apartments around him still there, but muffled. The wolf turned. Its jaws were red where it had bit the dog. Bucky shivered. He’d traded one threat for another. The creature came closer and Bucky held the piece of wood out. Then he collapsed, falling on his rear, scooting closer to the wall. He found less purchase on his grip as the wolf stalked closer.

He smelled the blood as its nose nuzzled him. At such a gentle gesture, Bucky was unsure what to do. If he hit it now, he was lunch meat. If he pulled away, he might get mauled. He let the beast press its forehead against Bucky’s cheek.

A smell came up from the beast. He knew that scent. The musty dirt of a forest floor. Something else, something he felt in his bones.

He didn’t know why he did this, but it were as if his hands weren’t in his control. He reached up and kneaded the flesh around the wolf’s neck. His fingers slid through the white and yellow fur. The wolf reacted by nuzzling at him, its wet nose finding his neck. It rubbed its head against him like a playful dog.

Bucky didn’t know why, but he started to cry.

Then it was gone.

Too scared to really know what had happened, his eyes stayed shut. When Bucky opened his eyes, perhaps a half minute later, the wolf had disappeared. He had no idea where to. The alley was empty. People moved across the opening to the alley. They must not have seen anything either.

The only thing he knew was that the wolf was gone and he was whole.

As he sat there, grateful for his life, there was only one regret that had taken over his thoughts which he would have taken with him to the grave.

 

 

Bucky saw the shadow through the peephole. For a moment, he expected the door to stay closed. Steve would have every right to shut him out after the things he’d said. If the door opened he knew that had to be the first thing to come out of his mouth—an apology.

The door opened and Steve peered out at him from under firm, serious brows. Bucky opened his mouth to speak. The blue of those eyes trapped him. He was frozen under that gaze.

Then there was nothing he could do but act.

He grabbed the lip of the door and pushed it open, coming inside, slamming the door behind him and locking it. Steve stepped back as Bucky pulled off his coat and threw it on the kitchen table. He walked toward Steve, who stepped back a few paces before standing his ground. Bucky nearly barreled into him.

They stood stock still as they stared at each other.

Steve reached up and held Bucky gently by the cheeks. Then he grabbed Bucky’s lapels in tight fists and walked them back to the bed. Steve’s legs hit the baseboard but he didn’t fall.

Whether Steve pulled him down or Bucky bent forward was a mystery to be solved another day. What mattered is that their mouths met and Bucky kissed a man for the first time in his life. It was too brief, Steve pulling away just as Bucky was getting a taste for it.

“Are you sure?” Steve asked as he fell onto the edge of the bed, hand grasping for Bucky’s belt.

Bucky said yes by taking his own shaking hands and helping unbuckle his belt, though Steve had to push away his hands to get it done. While Steve did that, Bucky, fumbling, unbuttoned his shirt, tore it off, and slipped his suspenders off his shoulders. Steve pulled and his pants and boxers fell down around his ankles. Bucky realized how undignified he must have looked, but by the time Steve had brought him forward and gathered him into his mouth, Bucky didn’t give a damn.

He’d never been able to convince any of his girlfriends to do this. He had always wondered what it felt like. It was warm and good, a mix of mouth and hands bringing him to hardness. Steve sucked on him so hard his cheeks pulled in and Bucky’s eyes rolled into the back of his head at the mix of the sight and the sensation of it. He swore it couldn’t feel better, but then Steve’s soft hand cradled his balls and began to massage them. Bucky wound his fingers in Steve’s hair, barely resisting the urge to pull hard—though so far, Steve hadn’t seemed to mind.

When Steve took his mouth away, Bucky groaned in protest. He stopped as he realized that Steve was getting himself undressed. He looked down to see the tent in Steve’s pants where he’d gotten hard. There was a wet spot at the tip that Bucky was quite familiar with after many sessions of heavy petting with girlfriends.

When they were naked, it occurred to Bucky that he was meant to be disgusted. He couldn’t be. He couldn’t conjure shame or disgust. He kissed Steve again, pressing him down into the bed. His hardness pressed into Steve’s hip, and he felt Steve’s press onto his belly. Steve was as furious a kisser as he’d looked with that other man. He tasted Steve’s tongue for the first time. With the girls he stepped out with, he’d only had one that used her tongue, and it was shyly. Steve wasn’t shy with his. Bucky could only follow his example, and from Steve’s reaction he was learning well.

There was a spark of pain and he tasted copper. He jumped and put his hand to his mouth. He felt something against his hand, and when he took his hand away he saw red on his fingertips.

“You _bit_ me,” Bucky gasped.

Steve only grinned, unapologetic, some of the blood staining his lip. They kissed again, furious, Bucky now using his teeth. He didn’t bite to break the skin like Steve had, but pulled on his lips, nibbled his jaw, and scraped his teeth across the skin of his neck, all while tasting copper in his mouth. The rougher he was with his hands and mouth the more Steve seemed to like it, pushing up against him, moaning and gasping.

“Go get the Vaseline,” Steve said.

“The…that’s real?” Bucky said.

“You don’t just put it in, you idiot.”

He scrambled for the Vaseline, finding it under the bed where Steve had stashed it. He slicked his hands with it and realized he was never going to look at the stuff the same way again. He pumped his hand over his cock, jumping at the cool substance. Steve took some on two fingertips and put his hand between his legs. Bucky watched in fascination as he readied himself, fingers disappearing into his ass.

“Just like that, okay?” Steve said. “Go in slow. I like the stretch.”

Steve spread his legs and reached down to guide Bucky in. Not knowing what he was about to feel, he let Steve take the reins. He did like Steve asked, going in slow, backing up every once in a while if Steve twitched or complained under him.

His mouth opened into a wordless cry. The feeling of tightness wasn’t just an initial sensation. This was how it was going to be. Steve’s knees were up near his ears and his head was tilted back and he moaned.

“This has to hurt,” Bucky said, coming back to himself.

“It’s good,” Steve said. “I swear to _god_ , it’s good. God, you feel so _good_.”

Cautiously, Bucky began to thrust, sure that this _must_ be hurting him somehow. But Steve’s back was arching and his mouth flapping open wordlessly.  He pushed Steve’s shoulders down into the hard mattress. He found his rhythm, harder, faster. When he seemed unsure, Steve grabbed his ribs and pulled him closer.

Collapsing forward, Bucky wanted to hold Steve close to him before he came. Steve took his legs off his shoulders and spread then, before pulling him close. Bucky buried his face in Steve’s neck and reached up to take handfuls of Steve’s hair in his fist. He smelled earth and pine needles, fresh air, and something animal that was so, so familiar. His hands wound into something as thick and soft as fur.

He pulled back with a start and found Steve looking up at him, eyes as crystalline as he’d ever seen them. Something in them was wild and hungry. He gave Steve what he wanted. He planted a fierce kiss on his lips, breathing in that strange, familiar scent.

Crying out, he came, and for a blissful moment he was too spent to exist. It had never been like that before. He couldn’t come back to himself. He was drifting in an otherworldly realm of sensation, some cousin world of dreams. He let his hands roam over Steve’s body. It wasn’t skin that he felt underneath his fingertips, and the chest that breathed under him had a deep and growling breath.

“Buck,” a voice said, and for a moment, Bucky thought it didn’t sound entirely human.

“Steve,” Bucky echoed, his voice not sounding like his own. “Steve. Oh _Jesus_ , Steve—”

Bucky nibbled and licked at Steve’s neck like an animal, Steve gasping and pulling him closer. Steve ran his hand through Bucky’s hair. Still removed from the world as he was, it didn’t feel like his own hair. It bristled and was thicker than he remembered it being.

He felt Steve come underneath him—the sudden wetness between them, Steve’s inhuman cry and the arch of his body. Steve clawed at his back and he swore he drew blood. Bucky buried himself further into the soft, bony body underneath him. He smelled come and sweat and must (dry dirt and grass, pine needles scattered on the forest floor).

Until they fell asleep, they nuzzled and nipped at each other, forgetting language, communicating by touch. They crawled under Steve’s thin quilt blanket, Steve’s head under Bucky’s chin and found warmth in each other in the long, deep night, the moon peeking in between the buildings that conspired to block out its light.

 

 

Nobody could agree on where they came from, but no one could deny they were there. The world hummed with the promise of a new age, one of machines and terrible weapons, and the old rules didn’t apply. Something older made itself known among the neon lights and the black and white reels of terrible things. Didn’t much matter where the damn things came from. The world was shifting, but old things still roamed the dark, and everybody knew there were wolves in Brooklyn.

**Author's Note:**

> first i would like to thank gay twitter. it is entirely responsible for the germination of this idea. then thanks go to [DrowningByDegrees](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DrowningByDegrees) for the beta read and [jinlinli](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jinlinli) for being an extra pair of eyes and both for giving me the confidence to post.


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